Underneath the Underneath
by Mere Anarchy
Summary: Kakashi was like a hurricane, or a tornado. Sakura, on the other hand, was more like a flame. Together they discover more about themselves than they knew in all their years apart.
1. Look Underneath the Underneath

A/N: To be completely honest, I'm not sure exactly what to call this. It started out as a collection of drabbles, then a collection of one-shots, and finally I just strung them all together and called it a story. . . or something like that. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, but be nice. ;-)

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The inside of the club was dark and sweaty and pulsing with the collective energy of the crowd's alcohol buzz. Sakura was faintly aware that she would be hearing the music pounding in her dreams tonight, and probably for half the morning in the form of a killer migraine.

'Look underneath the underneath.'

Even now, she would never be able to forget that particular maxim. It was one of the many things her sensei had imparted to Team 7, and of all of his advice, perhaps the most useful.

Whenever she was challenged, Sakura remembered Kakashi's words. Look underneath the underneath. It was her chief encouragement in the face of trouble at the hospital, and always put her on her guard during missions and combat with enemy shinobi. Look underneath the _underneath_. The saying was especially helpful when facing the greatest mystery of all: Hatake Kakashi himself.

He had a tribe of fangirls, which perpetually surprised Sakura. Her perverted old teacher had _fangirls_? She was prepared to admit that the mask really was sexy, and Kakashi possibly the hottest jounin of his generation. Or any generation, for that matter. But fangirls? Now that she gave it some thought, it was a miracle the man was still single.

And then again, it was also a miracle the man was still alive. Kakashi liked booze. He liked bars late at night and enemies and toying with danger. Of course, Sakura was well aware that most shinobi liked the same things. They were, in that way, utterly predictable. But everyone else had someone to look after them; to make sure they didn't drink _too_ much alcohol or pass out in a club or sleep with more people in one night than they were acquainted with by day. In all of the bar-hopping madness, Kakashi stood alone. Off to the side, quietly observing his fellow ninja make fools of themselves as he nonchalantly tossed back his liquor. Sakura had seen it before, and she was seeing it now.

His hair gleamed in the laser-tag lighting of the club; the pink-haired girl was sure that her's was reacting similarly. Perhaps the most conspicuous aspect of his appearance was the absence of Icha Icha; in its stead was a tall alcoholic beverage that he was sipping as steadily as rain water. By this point, Sakura was certain that he was more than a little drunk, and equally certain that she was in the same state of wine-induced sexuality.

She knew, because she had been watching. From her seat on the barstool, she also noticed that she wasn't the only one studying the copy-nin; and of course there were those observing her as well. It was not unexpected, or even unwelcome. Wherever the two went, people stared. Sometimes it was about their hair. Mostly it was about their bodies.

Kakashi's attraction was like a hurricane, or a tornado. Elusive most of the time, hitting you with rain when what you wanted was thunder. And like any storm, he had a crowd of followers who dedicated their lives to tracking his movements, and in the end were only half-successful in predicting where he would strike next. And rarely prepared when it actually happened.

Sakura, on the other hand, was more like a flame. When in her presence, the other sex was immediately attracted to her like moths. The glow of a conquest yet to come was bright in their eyes and thrummed through their veins like liquid gold. She was a novelty, a risk. She paraded around confidently even though she could hardly control them and certainly not _herself_. When the time came for the men to take that final plunge, they found that they could not do it. It was safer to watch, safer to beat around the bush and make promises they wouldn't dream of keeping. Even moths knew on some intrinsic level that playing with fire was not wise.

She was relatively untouched by any man. She was inextinguishable. And she was tired of waiting.

Sakura stood, drink in hand, and began to make her way over to the copy-nin's hidey-hole. It was a small corner, a place where he was hidden from most people's view and of course could see the entire building perfectly. Kakashi watched as she stalked single-mindedly through the dance floor, avoiding the limbs that flung themselves about, seemingly unattached to bodies, and the hips grinding to the tune of one-night-stand sex appeal. They both knew she was coming to (_for?_) him, and neither knew quite what to do about it.

In the end, they did nothing. As if a magnetic force was pulling her there, Sakura swam doggedly towards him through the sea of people. Kakashi let her come, swallowing his drink with all the methodic familiarity of a banker when dealing with money, or a sculptor with clay. He was, admittedly, curious. And hardly drunk at all. Really.

"I've been worried about you, sensei," she announced as she sidled up to his slouching form. It was quieter in this corner, almost secluded, and they didn't have to shout to be heard. The copy-nin took a long sip before acknowledging her presence with a small nod.

"Is that why you've been staring at me all night?"

"I haven't been _staring_ at you!" Sakura cried, aghast. "I've been trying to make sure you don't drink yourself to death. You should be grateful, you ass."

The lights flashing sporadically through the club's darkness made it hard to tell, but Sakura was pretty sure that he was smiling. "Is that so? I'm sorry, I thought I'd outgrown the need for a baby-sitter."

Sakura opted to finger his jaw line rather than dignifying that with a response. The mask was soft to the touch, sleek and satiny. It occurred to her that she had never touched it before, even though. . . Kakashi was looking pointedly off in another direction, his eye scanning the mass of dancing bodies for a familiar figure. His stance was relaxed, lazy, almost as if he had been expecting this.

"You know, sensei," Sakura murmured next to his ear, "I don't think it would even matter if you ever showed me your face."

The great copy-nin stiffened, then immediately regain composure. After a casual sip of his drink, Kakashi voiced calmly, "And why is that?"

Sakura smirked, and removed her hand from the jut of his chin.

When in doubt, change the subject. "I haven't seen you in a while. . . I've been missing Team 7 a lot lately."

She wasn't the only one. For the first time that night, Kakashi's single eye stopped roving through the crowd. He turned his head slowly, and allowed their eyes to meet. How long had it been since he'd really _looked _at her? Had he ever?

Sakura refused to look away. It was heady, having a man stare at you and look like he continue for eternity and never have enough. Moth to flame. _Moth to flame._ He should be careful not to get burnt.

Kakashi also refused to look away. It was gratifying, knowing that a woman was content to peer into his black orb and feel safety. Eye of the storm. _Eye of the storm._ She should make sure that she didn't wander out of it.

Around them, the crowd was growing, expanding, a living organism. Bodies pushed and pulled, beginning to overflow into their little corner. A particularly large man jolted into Sakura, effectively tearing her eyes away from her former sensei and causing her to lose her balance. Kakashi steadied the teetering kunoichi by grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her into his chest.

Sakura looked up, green eyes wide with surprise, and Kakashi couldn't help himself. "Do you want to go for coffee?"

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**A/N:** This is sort of an apology fic to those who've reviewed _Like a Stone_, because I haven't updated it in. . . what, two months? Anyway, in its entirety, this piece is dedicated to: **The Magical Whatever**, **CloeyMarie**, Zenna, **Arianna-san**, **Silent Kunoichi a.k.a. Fiona**, **warmfuzzies**, moodiful819, and **Dolphingirl32173**. I am immensely grateful for the reviews. And also, I've already written the next chapter for this (as well as the third and fourth chapters) so you don't have to worry about the update being late. :-)

-Mere Anarchy


	2. Theology and Coffee

The diner was small and fading and smelled vaguely of deep-fried grease and coffee beans. A bell attached to the door jangled cheerfully as the pair entered; an ancient waitress looked up from washing the counter with a rag that looked as old as she was. She brightened and waved. In the far corner, a wrinkled old man gnawed on a chicken leg and Sakura wondered if he knew that it was three in the morning. Kakashi responded to the woman's wave by raising two of his fingers in greeting.

"Just a pot of coffee, Rosalind, thanks."

The woman smiled, her face leathery and creased. "Sure thing!"

Sakura tried with some difficulty to not gape at this open display of friendliness on his part. Noticing her expression, and accurately interpreting it, Kakashi grabbed the crook of her elbow and chose a booth. A moment of silence passed, and Sakura wondered just what color silence would be if it was visible. As if reading her thoughts, Kakashi reached up and adjusted his headband. Hm. Silver, definitely, like his hair or his hitai-ate or the moon on late-night missions.

They sat on opposite sides of the table, an appropriate distance away from each other. The pink-haired kunoichi leaned on her elbows, chin on hands. The position always reminded her of Sasuke. Steeple-fingered. Blank eyes. Sakura licked her lips, and sat back in her seat, refusing to think of her old teammate. To clear her mind, she murmured the words that had been stewing around in her thoughts all night. "Do you believe in God, sensei?"

A silver eyebrow was raised, and a silver silence. Her former teacher ran a gloved hand through his hair and– was that _remorse_ she saw clouding his lone eye?

From his side of the table, Kakashi observed the only female from Team 7 wordlessly. What were her motives for asking such a thing? Did she want a theological debate or an honest answer? This girl –this _woman_– was harder to predict than the Sasuke-obsessed genin he had once known.

"Are you asking if I believe there _is_ a god, or if I trust in him?"

A wry smile. "I– hadn't really thought about it." She tossed her hand indifferently. "Whichever."

Either way, Kakashi wasn't sure. In the traditional sense, he wasn't a very pious person, but he did have to wonder. . . hadn't he formed some sort of religion out of his grief? In a sudden, dark moment, he imagined the memorial as his idol and _Icha Icha Paradise_ as his priest.

Surely he wasn't the only one to resort to such tactics, if that's what you could call it. Genma worshiped women, for example. But then Genma was one perverted bastard. . . and he couldn't think of any of his other friends who found faith in the mind-numbing depths of their obsessions.

Perhaps that's what religion had once been, in its most primitive state. An obsession. Not necessarily with porno literature or the female form, but with _survival_– being resurrected or reincarnated; going to heaven or hell, or the afterlife. Was his grief an obsession?

Rosalind was humming when she came up to the table, coffeepot in hand. She poured black, steamy liquid into two mugs and threw a wink over her shoulder as she left. The swinging door of the kitchen swished open as the older woman entered, exposing the belly of the restaurant like a gaping mouth. Kakashi brought the hot coffee to his lips and sipped. This place was unlike a bar, where he could guzzle drinks with nary a care in the world. Here it was too bright to fake numbness.

Across the table, Sakura was waiting for an answer. He recognized a certain look on her face: the starry-eyed sensualism that the anonymity of clubs can bring. It was fading, just fast enough for her to muddle through her thoughts and express them, without really considering the consequences of such an action.

It would be so easy to tell her flatly that no, he didn't believe in God, don't be so ridiculous.

But that would be the cowardly way out. Kakashi wasn't a coward, or so he liked to believe. There were two feasible options: one, have a heart-to-heart, or two, have an intellectual discussion.

Sighing, Kakashi leaned forward and began to explain Anselm's ontological theory and the various off-shooting ideas that had been proposed.

-

"What did you mean– earlier?"

His voice seemed to float across the darkness. The pair of jounin walked along the roadside, in the direction of Sakura's home.

It was funny; even in the dark, Kakashi could swear she was subtly glowing, like a campfire no one had bothered to put out from the night before. When men fell for her, they fell hard, and he was beginning to understand why. A person would never feel cold in her presence.

Sakura prepared herself to respond to his previous question, mouth parted slightly and eyebrows raised guilelessly. "What are you talking about, sensei?"

Somehow, Kakashi's gaze could be _felt_, made all the more potent by the sharingan that wasn't uncovered. His eyes didn't waver, and hadn't wavered since they left the diner. Sakura admitted to being glad when he had paid the bill and headed for the door. The namelessness of the club had begun to wash away, leaving her to feel naked in the bright florescent lights. Kakashi had known her when she was weak– if anyone was able to sense her vulnerability, it would be her former teacher.

Still, that didn't change her current predicament. . . Maybe she'd overdone the innocent act. Sakura sighed tiredly, and rubbed the back of her neck. It was too early in the morning for this, and she could see no easy way out of answering. Kakashi was worse than his nin-dogs when he something caught his interest. She might as well comply and spare herself some grief.

"You're talking about the mask comment, right?" Her question received a swift nod from the copy-nin.

_I don't think it would even matter if you ever showed me your face._ The kunoichi sighed. What had possessed her to say such a thing?

Oh, yeah. Alcohol. Sakura made a mental note to get so plastered she wouldn't be able to form coherent sentences the next time she decided to drink anything more potent than a shot of apple juice.

"Well, when we were genin," the pink-haired girl began, "you always told us to look underneath the underneath." Another nod, slower this time. "Well, your face is the 'underneath,' right? It's just another layer that doesn't matter. The real reason we wanted to see under your mask was because we wanted to know your secrets. Your face, the _idea_ of your face, is just another ruse to fool the opponent into a false sense of security."

Sakura shrugged softly and looked away, completely missing the widening of Kakashi's eye.

"I guess everyone is your opponent, right? Me and enemy shinobi and the little old lady who served us coffee." She laughed bitterly. "When I asked you about religion, you could've given me a personal answer, something with meaning. Instead we discussed the different theories of a 'divine creator,' and the statistical information man has gathered on the subject. Your soul wears a mask too, Kakashi-sensei, so your face is irrelevant to those who really want to know you."

A silence once again enveloped them, tempered only by the gravelly, pacing footsteps. The copy-nin was, not for the first time of the night, stunned; not to mention a little proud. The girl who had never been of much value as a genin had, more or less, figured out Kakashi's enigma. The only missing link was the original reason he had gone to such lengths to isolate himself: his father, and their disturbing resemblance. Kakashi was certain that if she knew of the circumstances surrounding his death, she would have figured that part out also.

How had Sakura been the only one to truly solve his riddle– not only of her teammates but of the entire village? He wondered if it was because she was the only one who gave it much thought. If so, why was she even interested?

Perhaps now was the time to show her underneath the mask. . .

The jounin let out a huff of air in irritation. She had just proved that his face was of no value; why give her something worthless after uncovering his greatest secret?

_Later,_ _Hatake,_ he told himself. _Do it later._

They had finally reached her doorstep. Kakashi looked up at her narrow, two-story apartment. This place held the bed his student came home to every night, exhausted from a recent mission or her day at the hospital; the couch Naruto crashed on when he needed company; the porch Rock Lee left flowers on.

He smiled casually, and murmured goodnight.

This moth knew when to flee.

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**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to **Ariana-san**, **lilmisssushi**, Chan-san and **Statik**. Thanks for the great reviews, everyone!

-Mere Anarchy


	3. Early Morning Ritual

Morning flickered brightly in Sakura's squinting eyelids, a softly insistent wake-up call.

Was it time to get up already? She couldn't be sure; her thought process was severely hindered by the merciless pounding on the inside of her head. Sakura cracked open her eyes and looked at the clock.

Urgh. Too blurry. What had she _done_ last night?

Oh, yeah. _Oh._ Yes.

Damn.

The dirty purple sheets grated against her skin, and the morning light was unkind to the throbbing remains of alcohol in the back of her eyeballs. She wanted so badly to burrow into the covers and never come to the surface again. Unfortunately, that scenario was about as likely as Sasuke sitting around a campfire singing _kum ba yah_ with big brother Itachi.

_Str–et–ch._ There was a tangible presence in the room, other than herself and the coffee-house-hangover that was currently battling her brain for occupancy of her skull. The pink-haired girl drummed her fingers on her night stand and prepared herself for the heat of Naruto's body against her own. The mattress curved under her friend's weight and the chilly violet bedsheets were pulled with nimble fingers from Sakura's body.

Her legs twitched at the sudden rush of cold air, causing her to frown vaguely, eyes still closed. Perhaps she was not as awake as she had previously assumed. Unwillingly, Sakura reached for her covers, using her hands to see.

She could feel the fox boy's smile in the air. Aching and sweet. Very alive.

Sakura didn't feel alive at all this morning; quite the opposite in fact. She vaguely recalled an extremely drunk Naruto staggering out of the club last night, before she left with Kakashi. How did he do it?

"Hellooooo, Sakura-chan."

The husky whisper was accompanied by a deep whiskered chuckle that rolled down her pale throat. He hadn't touched her yet– unusual. It was generally Naruto who instigated body contact. Still refusing to open her eyes, Sakura felt around her bed and finally found him tipping precariously on the edge of her mattress. Apparently he was playing some kind of game. She pulled the boy onto her lap and purred haphazardly as his heat spread onto her skin.

"Hellooooo, Naruto-kun," she replied with a quiet laugh, eyes half-lidded. The lengths of their bodies meshed together, warm on warm, and they were content to lay silently on the kunoichi's bed in the face of the seeping morning sunshine.

All was, perhaps, not as well as it seemed. Naruto worried about her. She knew because he would watch her when she laid in the rain and cried, and sometimes would even drag her inside and demand that she cry in the safety of his arms. But she never could, because she was only capable of crying in the rain.

It is the only time she can pretend the tears are raindrops.

He understood, fleetingly, that what she truly needed was constancy; that their relationship was built on unspoken promises, and privacy was one of them. The system was uncomplicated.

Sakura was the candle's light carelessly left to burn while the family is away on vacation; forgotten, completely forgotten, until they return and find only ashes where their home once stood.

And if she was the flame that occasionally erupted into a forest fire, then Naruto was the sun: necessary for everyday life, and yet forever out of reach. He burned for his Sakura-chan, and her alone, but even she could not touch him.

His proximity gradually burned off the fuzzy haze she had been dwelling in; the events of the previous night unfolded slowly in her mind. Kakashi was different than she and Naruto: he was the storm that occasionally descended upon them all with utter fury and made a quick job of eclipsing Naruto's presence. He was fast, lightning quick, and gone the next moment.

When would she see the Copy Ninja again? Her former sensei was unpredictable. . . numbing. He calmed the part of her that still missed Sasuke, and the other part that wanted to tear the hapless boy to shreds. But he was a quick fix, a sudden and startling reprieve from life just like the storms that she would immerse herself in.

Sighing, the pink-haired kunoichi tried to push all thoughts of a certain silver-haired shinobi from her mind. The only thing she wanted to focus on was the warm body beside her. This morning ritual, important to both of them, was becoming increasingly rare. Naruto was a highly skilled shinobi, desperately needed in the field; Sakura was just as desperately needed in the hospital. They understood this, but that didn't make coping any easier.

-

The silence of the moment was too perfect to be broken. A certain blonde shinobi sighed, heavy with the knowledge of what had to come. Restlessly he shifted his legs, causing the woman next to him to groan and crack open a single eye. "What _is_ it, baka?"

She didn't like to have her peace disturbed. Naruto had a feeling she _really_ wouldn't like the news.

"I have a mission, Sakura-chan," he finally admitted.

The lull of the moment immediately morphed into a tense, uneasy silence. For the first time of the morning, Sakura's eyes were wide open and alert. A beat; then she spoke. "How long?"

". . . About two months. I leave tonight."

_Two months?_ The only thing that prevented Sakura from jumping up and throwing a tantrum was her friend's low-hanging head. He was trying so hard not to ruin their time together that she found herself snuggling closer to him, silenced. He didn't need this now. She had to pretend. (He was the only one who ever believed her.)

Sensing that somehow the storm had passed, Naruto sighed gustily into her ear and whispered a small thank-you. Sakura had to admit that she loved his voice; deep and husky and warm. She loved his voice and, what's more, she couldn't bear the silence right now. It reminded her too much of Kakashi.

Leaning in, the kunoichi said, "Tell me about your last mission, Naruto."

She was rewarded with a foxy grin and the beginning of a long soliloquy on the evils of snotty visiting dignitaries. The pink-haired girl relaxed into his arms and closed her eyes once more.

Their proximity, while some would disapprove, meant nothing. He would never kiss her. Yes, Naruto was usually the one to initiate body contact, but there was an unspoken rule that any kind of romantic gesture was solely in the hands of the female.

Of course, Sakura also had made a pact with herself that she would never do anything of the like. She and Naruto were too similar, in essence, to ever have _that _kind of relationship; perhaps that was why she was so fond of Kakashi. Opposites attract, and all. She wondered which of their natures would dominate, when pitted against each other. She wondered what would happen if he ever kissed—

Naruto's monologue had taken a predictable turn; now he was ranting about ramen. After subtly shaking her head to rid herself of unwanted thoughts, Sakura smiled. She might love the rain best, but there was nothing more constant than the sun.

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**A/N:** Don't freak out, this isn't a NaruSaku story. Sorry about the horrendous lack of KakaSaku; I just needed to get this chapter out of the way. Thanks for being patient.

-Mere Anarchy


	4. The Depth of Fear: A Look Out the Window

Sakura's front door closed behind her without a sound, as always. No lights were necessary; the kunoichi was quite adept at maneuvering around her house in the dead of night. Even now, after one of the most exhausting missions she had ever been assigned, the walk from her front door to her bed was brisk and precise through the bleak darkness. As she climbed the stairs, items of clothing were discarded one by one. A glove, then the other, floated to the floor; the pants dropped next. When she reached the landing, without missing a step, her shirt was smoothly pulled over her head and cast off. _Mm_. She would worry about bloodstains in the morning.

Sakura entered her room, checking briefly for anything out of the ordinary, and crawled under the sheets on her last bit of strength. She felt gritty, unclean; even stripped down to underwear and a tank-top, there was an uncomfortable heat in her temples and down her back.

In the darkness, Sakura permitted herself a soft sigh. Naruto's scent still stuck to her sheets like eternity, reminding the lonely kunoichi how ridiculous it was to miss him already. Five days, after all, did not put much of a dent in two months. She inhaled once again, only to discover the smell of death hovering over her, detracting from the whiff of ramen and sandalwood that she had come to associate with her favorite demon fox carrier.

A small tremor traveled up Sakura's spine and through her fingertips, where the blood was still drying, sticky. How many had she killed this time around? Five, ten, fifteen?

The pink-haired kunoichi cringed. Thirty, forty, fifty?

It was tedious, really. . . all the dying. It felt a million miles away and, even so, much too close. It weighted her limbs, an extra heaviness meant to anchor her to the mattress. Briefly, as her eyes closed and then opened once more, she wondered how much she would have to struggle to get up in the morning. Another sigh, this one quieter. Everything for Sakura had been a struggle, and the pattern was not likely to change. She rolled over on her back and willed herself to sleep.

-

_It was the taste on her lips –spring, open and honest– or maybe it was the smell of fresh blossoms or the breeze running through her hair. She could almost hear the wind whisper. What was it saying? It was leading her to something. The door was here. . . somewhere. _

_If only she could find it. _

_The coldness was pressing closer with each labored breath, and in her head she heard a whiny pang escalate into a scream. If only she could find the way out of all this darkness. (If only she wasn't certain the door would be locked.)_

-

In the morning, winter was in the air. Sakura knew it not by the chill but instead by the way her body radiated heat to make up for the obvious lack thereof. And although she welcomed its coming, this new season brought no joy to the suddenly sobered kunoichi: she was more out of her element than she was willing to admit.

Not yet willing to face the daylight, Sakura tried to define exactly what it was about this season that bothered her.

To be a ninja was to be cold, unfeeling. There were few exceptions to the rule, she and Naruto most notable among them. Her friend's presence, though paler when compared to winter, stayed strong. She, however. . . In the face of winter she dimmed entirely. Through it all, Sakura knew that trying to be anything other than yourself was as futile as the sky trying to become the ocean. _They mirror each other but have completely different properties_. Despite this, Sakura found herself _hoping_ during the winter; not for the quick arrival of spring, but rather for an eternal coldness. The kunoichi opened her eyes and inhaled, but her breath caught in her throat.

The window was open.

Sakura squinted, almost not believing her eyes. None of the obvious questions popped into her mind: how, when, _who_? Instead she rubbed her eyes clean of leftover dreams, which incidently were nightmares so she didn't feel bad for blotting them out, and attempted to roll out of bed and investigate.

It was a struggle, just as she had predicted. Sakura was about to collapse under the covers, write the incident off as the result of a particularly strong gust of wind, when a lazy drawling voice stopped her cold.

"Chilly?"

Relief spread across her features when a familiar silver-haired jounin appeared, leaning casually against her window-frame. Sakura breathed deeply, unaware until that moment that she had been holding her breath.

"Ah, Kakashi. You scared me."

There was a pause. With maturity Sakura had also gained an appreciation of silence, but somehow this was awkward. "What brings you here at this hour, sensei?"

Kakashi's single eye crinkled into a smile. Apparently he wasn't feeling the same discomfort as his student. "It's twelve o'clock, Sakura. Even _I_ consider this an appropriate visiting hour."

An alarmed expression dashed across Sakura's face for a brief moment. She really _was_ out of it. "Twelve, huh? I guess I was more tired than I thought."

He didn't respond, just smiled pleasantly, and once again the disconcerting silence filled the room and clogged Sakura's vocal chords. She fidgeted, not yet resigned to letting loose the undignified scowl that threatened to take over her features: he hadn't answered her question yet, or offered any explanation at all. One would think it was normal for him to pop into other people's bedrooms at the crack of dawn and scare them half to death. _Hmph._

"I heard you went on a mission," Kakashi stated eventually. "I just wanted to check in on you."

Hatake Kakashi was well-known for enigmatic behavior, but his given reason still did little to placate the fiery-tempered kunoichi. Once the brief euphoria for having waited him out faded, Sakura narrowed her eyes.

"Just because I work at the hospital most of the time doesn't mean I have no skills, _sensei_." The emphasis on his title was to remind him of his past neglect; her intent was not lost on the copy-nin. "I'm sure you don't check on Naruto every time he gets back from a mission."

His expression didn't change but she had known her sensei long enough to recognize that his mind had already jumped to a different subject: a tool he frequently employed to avoid awkward conversations. Her suspicion was confirmed when Kakashi's eye, which had been fixed steadily on her face, traveled down her body and rested on the bed sheets. "I suppose you'll be cleaning that up?"

Exasperated, Sakura looked down and saw the bloodstains she had pushed out of her mind the night before. Her composed, neutral expression finally crumpled, and the kunoichi rubbed her eyes blearily. There was silence in the room; Sakura waited for her sensei to speak.

Not surprisingly, Kakashi surprised her. "You've got a nice view here."

Sakura looked up incredulously, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Yeah? I guess I never noticed," she smiled, coming to stand beside her old teacher. She gazed out the window for a moment, uncomfortably aware that the view from the window wasn't the one her sensei was currently observing. She drew her gaze from the window slowly, allowing him time to remove his eye from her face. But of course he didn't. When their eyes met and locked she had schooled her features and her green irises revealed nothing.

"I don't usually keep this window open. It. . . gets drafty in here."

Urgh. That wasn't what she wanted to say. What she wanted to say was vaguely taboo and just a little too true for comfort. Perhaps it was just as well that a lie came out of her mouth instead.

Unfortunately, Kakashi had never been one to buy into her lies. And his single eye, dark as night, was the most powerful truth serum Sakura had ever encountered. One glance, from the right angle, was enough to make harder ninja than she sweat. The fact that she had grown up in awe and fear of him did nothing to help the situation.

"Oh?"

"Yes." Sakura swallowed audibly. The word had sounded more convincing in her head. "And— . . ."

"Well?"

The kunoichi chuckled soundlessly, resisting the urge to remind him that he wasn't her teacher anymore, there was no need to sound so severe. But maybe there was more to learn from her ex-sensei.

"I'm actually kind of– I don't like having that window open."

There was patience in his expression; or at least she thought so. "Ah."

Sakura rolled her eyes in displeasure. Apparently he aimed to make this as uncomfortable as possible for her. "Yes." There was the conviction she needed. She pursed her lips, not quite sure why her tone sounded so defensive, even to her own ears.

It was with effort that Kakashi suppressed a sigh. Some days, it seemed like his time as a teacher wasn't yet over. Then there were the other days, when it seemed like it would never be over.

"You're an excellent ninja, Sakura," he began. "You practically run the hospital– with an efficiency that others twice your age envy. What are you afraid of?"

Sakura's eyes narrowed, and Kakashi hurried to explain himself. "_Everyone_ is afraid of _something._ You happen to be afraid of something a little less tangible than most."

The pinched expression on her face relaxed– in an almost suspiciously saccharine manner, Kakashi noted. "_Everyone_ is afraid of something, sensei?"

Hm. Kakashi didn't particularly enjoy her emphasis on 'everyone,' and he liked the devilish look in her eye even less. This had the potential to turn into a rather sticky conversation.

"_Everyone?_" she repeated insistently when he didn't respond. Kakashi appeased her with a reluctant nod, all the while knowing she would want more. "And am I presumptuous in assuming you are a part of 'everyone'?" He didn't deign to respond. It didn't really make a difference. "I believe we were discussing this topic a few nights ago? Fears. . ." Sakura's gaze lowered, to Kakashi's discomfiture, from his eyes to his mask. ". . . or, if not fear precisely, something very near to it. However, I must confess that our conversation ended rather unsatisfactorily." This, too, was a conversation that would end with less-than-satisfactory results– at least for the silver-haired jounin. "So, I have to ask, sensei. What are you afraid of?"

She hadn't expected a straight answer. He surprised her again.

"I'm afraid of leaving things unfinished," he said simply, daring her to look away from his gaze. "I'm afraid of messy endings."

To her credit, Sakura took a moment to process his response. Slowly she said, "And what am I afraid of, sen-_sei_?"

He smiled indulgently, then took a moment to be grateful that she couldn't see it. "You? That's easy. You're afraid of change, or more specifically having to change yourself to fit in with your surroundings. . . Has anyone ever told you that your greatest fear can also be your strongest desire?"

The slight raise of her eyebrow, Kakashi flattered himself, was a concession. Point one for the copy-nin. "You think you can read me that easily?" she countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

His eye twinkled merrily. "People are as easy to read as books." There was a hint of innuendo in Kakashi's voice, and Sakura immediately thought of his _Icha Icha Paradise_ addiction. Now was probably the wrong time to explore this venue. Perhaps at a later date, when she was more fully clothed.

"I've heard you're not so bad at reading people yourself," Kakashi was saying when Sakura nonchalantly reentered the conversation. What an easy time he had of changing the subject.

She rewarded him with a grim smile. "Yes, I'd like to think myself adept at that particular art."

"I do have to wonder when,or _why?_, you developed this talent."

"Sasuke." Her response was brusque and clearly meant to discourage further questioning. Kakashi, hardly a self-proclaimed reader of emotion, knew this, and disregarded it.

"I see. Is he why you keep the window closed?"

It was a stab in the dark, a wild guess. Even if his statement _was_ true, would she admit to it?

As if she knew his thoughts, Sakura's lips tightened into a line. Reflexively, he stretched to meet her and in the same moment felt his confidence shrivel up, evaporate. This was the girl who loved the boy who gave her nightmares. And she didn't need to tell him that she still did. It was written, wordless, on every line of her grown-up body.

For that and that alone, Kakashi kept his mouth clasped tight. A wild mantra ran through his head, _not your business not your business_, and besides, even if he felt himself capable of speech he would have nothing to say.

So she didn't want him. _Not your business_. So she didn't want anyone. _Not your business_. Things were breaking off in sharp chunks, bits and pieces of heart falling like hail. Only more painful. Was this love or possession? Renovation or trepidation? Was this even making sense?

Not to his head maybe, but to his heart.

A bitter smirk crossed the copy-nin's face and rubbed against the silk of his mask. His long-buried, ill-begotten heart.

On her side of the equation, Sakura was quietly restless, mind wandering past boundaries set long ago. Why did she feel so damn insecure with that window open, anyway? What _was_ she afraid of?

Him.

And of course, now she wasn't sure which 'him' she was referring to. Did it matter? Sasuke could come back and her heart would be _gone_. Stolen with just a glance. And Kakashi—

Did he really see straight through her? Time and time again; it could not just be coincidence. And so he was dangerous to her too. And attractive for the same reason.

Sakura drew a frustrated hand through her hair, glanced out the window and hastily stepped back. Puzzled, the copy-nin glanced out onto the street and saw a teenage boy smirking up at them as he strolled by. Ugh. Civilians. He, too, stepped away from the window. Some errant conclusion might be drawn from the sight of Sakura in her underwear; not that an idea of that sort could be anything but laughable. A serious relationship between them, perhaps even mere friendship, was doomed before it was begun.

At any rate, her bare legs meant nothing to him, or something, maybe, but only in the most casual of ways. He had seen her far less decently attired on missions, particularly as she grew older. Kunoichi tend to lose all sense of modesty rather quickly.

Sighing, Kakashi tried to distract himself with another topic. The sight of blood kept coming back to him. "Not many ninja are comfortable with going to bed like that," he noted, nodding towards the dried blood tipping her fingers and streaking up her forearms in red ribbons. Somehow this, too, reminded him of the girl she once was. "I've known friends to scrub themselves clean for hours before they could sleep."

Kakashi regretted his unthinking statement at Sakura's stricken expression; she held her hands up to the light for examination. He opened his mouth to renege on his last words, but found himself saying something else entirely.

"Well, see you tonight."

Sakura frowned slightly and looked up from her rust-colored fingers to question her sensei's parting statement, but the window was closed and the copy-nin had disappeared in his signature puff of smoke. Another one of his avoidance techniques.

With a cluck of her tongue, Sakura resolved to put the encounter out of her mind. She endeavored to forget that she never answered his question about Sasuke. But somehow, when she headed for work, the window was left wide open.

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**A/N:** I am _ridiculously_ grateful for all the people who reviewed even when it seemed like I was never going to post this chapter. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope this chapter was worth the several-months wait. And while I don't want to make any false promises, the next chapter should be up within the next month. Thanks once again!

-Mere Anarchy


	5. Team Dynamics

Sakura entered the Hokage's building just after one, busily arranging a mental to-do list in her head. She was too distracted to worry about tardiness; the written report of her mission crinkled in her tight grip. There would be much work to complete today.

A few wrinkled Elders passed the kunoichi on a flight of stairs and nodded, but her thoughts were far away and she didn't notice them. It seemed that every time she remembered one thing to be done she forgot another, her mind flashing back with little hesitation to Kakashi – the enigma who had been haunting the foreground of her mind these last few days, after haunting the background for years. Was their relationship classifiable? What did she want from him? Sakura twisted her lips. It wasn't his face, pale and prose-like – full of possibility. That would change too many things between them, break too many boundaries. (She once told him that his face, to her, was meaningless . . . _Not true_, her mind now cried, _not true._) The unveiling of his face would feel bridal, solid. She would kiss him, then, without reserve or caution. And really, who could say what might follow? They were both adults now.

As Sakura walked, the slow and nonchalant voices of two ninja discussing bloodshed caught her interest; she quickened her pace. The first voice was unmistakably her shishou's, but the second was only strangely familiar to her, like a fragment of a dream not yet remembered.

As she neared it, Tsunade's office lapsed into silence. The second ninja had slipped away.

Sakura waited for a discreet moment before calling, "Shishou?" and rapping her knuckles crisply against the door. "Shishou, it's Sakura."

"Come in."

The room was permeated in the scent of sake and pleasantly cluttered. The Hokage glanced up at her student, smiling briefly before she re-buried her head in a thick medical tome.

"You're not particularly early, are you? Call Shizune for me."

Sakura poked her head out the door, where a familiar-looking genin was scurrying past, some scroll clutched tightly between his fingers. "Tell Shizune to report to the Hokage's office, Raido," Sakura commanded mildly. The lad looked up at her and squeaked, probably surprised that she had remembered his name from one of the Academy classes she had taught last year. With a blindly obedient nod, he hurried off.

When Sakura turned around, the Hokage had abandoned her book for a thick stack of papers, the likes of which Sakura hoped she would never have to face. What a headache. Sakura was not surprised when her mentor pushed them aside carelessly and rose from her chair, arranging the faux-youthful lines of her face into a pleasant smile.

"Sit, sit, Sakura," Tsunade offered with motherly warmth in her voice. "Your mission went well, I take it?"

Sakura bit her lower lip with a pearly white incisor, cautious. The task had been tough but not impossible, requiring all of her diplomatic skills a fair amount of stealth, and certainly those people-reading skills she had bragged to Kakashi about. And the end – killing her way out. The gritty, heart-breaking kind of fight in which someone will die – make sure it's the opponent. The kind of fight where "opponent" feels sickly on the tongue – it can only be _enemy_ from here on out, or how could you justify it? Perhaps she wasn't an entirely unbiased judge, but Sakura was certain she had been assigned an unusual amount of these kinds of missions in the last month or two. Why would a rising medic-nin need all this background in diplomacy? In warfare?

But Sakura honestly didn't know what to expect anymore. Konoha was waging an unofficial war with the land of Sound, and so it was feasible, she supposed, to expect the unexpected – which struck her as advice Kakashi would give. A moment of shrewd silence passed before a loud, informal knock sounded and Shizune stuck her head in the door. "You needed me, Tsunade-sama?"

"Those notices need to be delivered, Shizune." Tsunade, having returned to her seat, started rifling through her papers again. "I'd like you to do it for me. Those two idiots are out." The Hokage's assistant nodded deferentially and shut the door, winking at the seated kunoichi as she went.

If Sakura knew Shizune as well as she thought she did, there was something behind that wink. The kunoichi raised a pink eyebrow. "Notices, sensei?"

Tsunade continued to examine the documents. "Hm. I guess, since you're already here . . . Tonight there will be a mission debriefing for an upcoming assignment. You will be serving as the team medic, and Kakashi is coming along to supervise, but I don't think you'd know any of the others."

Sakura's mind immediately jumped to Kakashi's ambiguous parting sentiment earlier that morning. "So, um, who all knows about it?"

Tsunade's eyes narrowed, but Sakura couldn't tell if she was thinking about her student's questions or the contents of the folder in her hand. When she spoke her tone was absent. "No one, as of yet. It was scheduled just recently. Mm – why?"

Sakura shrugged, inwardly marveling at Kakashi's knack for gathering not-quite-public knowledge. "No reason, shishou . . . Here's my report, by the way." The Hokage nodded sagely but didn't respond. Sakura looked down at her hands, faintly pink with the blood she hadn't managed to scrub off. Something was not quite right.

"Shishou?" Sakura asked, her green eyes glistening in earnest. "Another mission, already? I just got back from one last night, and – they need me at the hospital."

The Godaime's smile just barely touched her eyes, but at least she wasn't looking down anymore. "Oh, we're just a little short on manpower right now, Sakura-chan. Hyuuga Neji's out for a month on critical injuries, and a large group of ANBU came out of a serious scuffle with Sound rather worse for the wear. Is there a _reason_ you don't want to go on another mission?"

The former student of Hatake Kakashi recognized a trap when she saw one. Rising fluidly, Sakura shook her head and said, "Well, I've got to get going. I'm sure you'll want a head start on those papers." Tsunade groaned and waved a smiling Sakura out the door. Once alone, the highly respected Godaime pulled out a bottle of sake and snapped her fingers.

"Izumi."

A darkly attired ninja crouched before the suddenly very world-weary Hokage.

"Get me Hatake."

-

In general, Kakashi liked to shun anything to do with children, or childhood, or childish behavior. So it followed that he couldn't exactlysay _why_ he was skipping rocks on this pond as if he weren't a thirty-two year old shinobi. Pressed hard, he would probably guess it had something to do with Sakura.

She wasn't really a child anymore, was she? This knowledge bothered him more than he liked to admit, and then some. It really wasn't his business. But what had he expected her to be – frozen in time, a child in mind even with a body like that?

The Godaime had been grimly pleasant, unhappy yet satisfied with his news when he had reported to her after leaving Sakura's house (_bedroom_ seemed too intimate a word). He had given a favorable report, all things considered, forcing the Hokage to concede. 'I believe she is ready for this mission,' he had said, with pretend composure.

Was she ready? Hell yes. Was he?

Not quite.

There was nothing "normal" about this elaborate procedure he and the Godaime were conducting. Any other jounin and they would not be so deep in serious consideration, weighing all sides, all consequences. But this was Sakura, dear student to both. Some measure of caution was required for their sanity.

Kakashi sighed. Even through deliberating, they both knew that should she be unprepared for what they would ask, their only option was the same – they would choose what was best for the village.

The silver-haired shinobi knelt, his glove fingers twitching between two smooth, flat rocks. He picked both up and weighed them in his hands.

The debriefing was tonight. By this time, the Godaime might've already told Sakura about the mission. Why had he let it slip that he knew anything about it? Kakashi deftly flicked the larger of the two stones into the placid water of the pond; it wobbled over the soft curve of the water for a second and then plunked into the murk. "Hn." A wrong decision, made so easily – but maybe, in the end, it wouldn't matter that he was mixed up in this after all.

Tsh. Kakashi had never had the ability to lie to himself to soothe his own conscious. It _did_ matter. In the end, he was losing his touch. Losing it – all. God. He'd already lost his other two students, in some way or another, and he wasn't about to lose this one. It didn't really matter how he kept her.

The copy-nin dropped the second stone from his hand and one-eightied away from the pond, his hair a blur of silver like a speeding kunai in the forest. It occurred to him that if he ran fast enough, his lost toss - failure - wouldn't catch up.

Sometimes Kakashi even thought it was normal to measure loss with insanity.

-

Sakura at the hospital was a woman in control. Forged of steel with a heart of something softer, she bloomed under the strain of surgery like no medic anyone could remember. Even Tsunade spilt her stress in cups of sake; even she let her eyes start blurring past midnight. But not Sakura. The heavy antiseptic gloom of the hospital seemed to part for the pink-haired medic. White-jacketed and smiling, she was making her rounds for the first time in weeks. Damn missions. It was good to feel grounded again. Undeniably, on missions Sakura felt like a fetus without an umbilical cord, a candle in the dark. In truth she felt like her abilities did a little but could not quite light up the entire room.

Sakura put a hand to her temple to stop the stilted metaphors. "Anything for me?" she asked the woman at the front desk.

Midori looked up and smiled. "Only a list of checkups a mile long."

Sakura groaned. "I keep up with _surgeries_. How do I always manage to get behind on those?"

"Something to do with procrastination, I believe," Midori answered winsomely, handing Sakura a clipboard. "Here, I've organized them by difficulty, in descending order."

The pink-haired medic chuckled. She lifted some of the preliminary papers to get to the list of patients who were due for checkups. "Oh, heavens."

The receptionist grinned. "Might as well get it over with, right?"

-

Kakashi was on his way to the ramen stand – or his apartment – anywhere, really – when a chuunin cut him off, one he recognized as a courier for the Hokage.

"Hatake Kakashi, you are to report to the Godaime's office."

_Again?_ he thought in annoyance. The copy-nin considered his options. He could definitely outrun this kid, but perhaps the repercussions wouldn't be worth the initial glee.

"Alright, alright," Kakashi said, bowing to fate. "I'll get there."

The chuunin noted this evasion – get there _when_? – with a narrowing of his eyes but went up in smoke without a word.

_Kids these days . . . No respect._ Kakashi smirked suddenly, wondering what his old buddy Genma would say to that. Genma, whom he hadn't seen in months. How was the old womanizer doing? Snickering, the copy-nin additionally wondered _who_ the brown- haired womanizer was doing.

Fate, the fifth, bah. He needed a break. Kakashi headed in the opposite direction of the Hokage's tower, his mind wandering back to his and Genma's old haunts. He would start at the Silver Senbon.

-

Sakura entered the room formidably, a medic on a mission. "I'll just be in and out," she said kindly, bustling about the room in a way few women without children could do. But then, who was to say that Sakura didn't have children? Many children: hospital boys and girls with broken limbs and hacking breath. It was a sad life, this.

Genma grinned up at her as she fluffed his pillow. "Why, Nurse Haruno," he said. "What a pleasant surprise. I was just beginning to think that there wasn't a pretty woman in this place."

Sakura smiled wryly. They both knew that she had purposely assigned him a caretaker who wouldn't . . . tempt him. Nurse Ai was a heavy-set mother of five, with a ruddy complexion and scolding nature. She had a heart of gold, but Sakura was fairly sure Genma had been to preoccupied mourning the absence of a young, attractive nurse to notice.

"You don't like Nurse Ai, Genma-san? I picked her out special for you."

The jounin chuckled. His eyes were half-lidded, but that only emphasized the intensity of his gaze.

Sakura moved away from the bed and the sex-starved jounin. "Hm," she mused at the chart, facing away from the bed-ridden senbon-sucker. Green eyes scanned over the report. "Looks good, looks good," she murmured, ignoring the nefarious chuckles behind her. "How's that wound?"

Sakura glanced over her shoulder to gauge his reaction and was not particularly pleased with the one she received. No man she knew could look hungrier than an abstaining Genma. _Well_, she thought dryly, _at least I know he's not sneaking off into the night and reversing all our handiwork._

"Not so good, Sakura," Genma responded. His stab at mock-weariness was rendered ineffective by the growling husk of his voice. Sakura felt a small thrill in her belly and immediately began shuffling papers. If it was a desperate grasp at a distraction and he was laughing at her for it, so be it.

But, God, that man's laugh . . .

_Is second only to his voice,_ her mind proffered unhelpfully.

As if sensing her inner debate, Genma spoke again, this time with no pretense to hinder the sensuality of his characteristic drawl. "Nurse Haruno, I believe it is your _duty_ to help your patients . . . and, truly, this wound needs immediate medical attention."

"I'm sure I wouldn't be of any more help than Nurse Ai has been," Sakura said pointedly, turning to face him.

"No, my fair kunoichi, you're mistaken. I'm sure yours is just the touch I need to make me well again," Genma returned, his chocolate brown eyes welling with something darker than childish mischief.

A knock on the door saved Sakura the necessity of a reply. She went to open the door but sooner than she could reach it – Kakashi pushed it open himself. The man staring dolefully through the door frame did not seem surprised to see her; in fact skimmed over her in search of someone else.

Kakashi's visible eye tilted downward upon seeing the shaggy brown-headed man in a pristine white bed. So, he was here for his friend, but it was not, perhaps, a friendly visit. The expression he wore – Sakura sensed it almost tangibly – was one of displeasure.

The medic-nin felt a powerful jolt of emotion when he passed. She sucked in a breath of air, afraid to speak, afraid of the sudden spell they were under, she and Genma. The two stared as Kakashi stalked or sauntered up to Genma's bed, opened his vest and tossed a small orange book onto Genma's lap.

"Something for the wait," he explained airily, turning around. "And – you might want to lay low for a while. Apparently, you owe someone at the Silver Senbon a good deal of money."

Genma nodded the brief nod of someone struggling very hard to place a name or a face. In this case, Sakura suspected, it was a behavior pattern – but she didn't think much of anything after that because Kakashi turned and with the same mysterious gait walked out of the room, sparing her a half-nod and a small murmur that might have been anything.

Genma's magic, it would seem, dimmed a bit when Kakashi was in the room. And even after the door was shut and Genma seemed to be in control of his mental facilities, his voice seemed less of a growl than a whine.

Smiling patiently, Sakura fended off Genma's further propositions-thinly-disguised-as-medical-queries and left the room not thinking about the one in it.

No, she was thinking about a different man entirely.

-

On his way to the Godaime's office, Kakashi reflected that his former student would need a lover who had known her intimately since childhood. There were three men in the world who truly qualified: Naruto, Sasuke and himself. She might try to run from it and find a man who knew her only as the "mature" Sakura, but he also knows there is an immature side of her that would forever be hiding, and he knows that she relies on the past too little for her own good. Someone would have to be around to remind her that good things can happen in bad times, and bad things can happen in good times, and sometimes a little remembering isn't a bad thing.

Of course, could he really teach her such a lesson without too much emphasis? Konoha did not need another Kakashi, erecting the past with monuments and worshipping, worshipping, never letting go.

Either way, he felt that it was time to step back and evaluate his relationship with Sakura as a whole, from the very beginning. This might . . . fix things.

Yes, he told himself, walking up stairs for once instead utilizing his customary distance jutsu, he had been far too hasty of late.

His thoughts continued in this manner, and he could feel the fight-or-flight response kicking in. Of course, Kakashi preferred to call it 'self preservation,' and generally his reaction was of the passive-aggressive persuasion. But Sakura, he was sure, would sooner punch him into Sand Country than be ignored, however subtly. And while he certainly needed a vacation, a week in the hospital didn't sound as appealing as, say, a trip to the beach.

Kakashi promptly shook his head in order to rid himself of several lascivious images of Sakura in a bikini, and then, shockingly, one of her . . . not in a bikini. That kind of thinking, he knew, should be confined to his reading material, and kept far, far away from Sakura. His physical wellbeing depended on it.

Obediently, Kakashi's thoughts returned to his own passive-aggressivism, which he supposed tended to the "disorder" side of the spectrum, rather than the "behavioral issue" side. Not so surprising, particularly with his childhood.

As Kakashi strolled down a long hall in the Hokage building, he briefly listed symptoms: ambiguity, avoiding responsibility by claiming forgetfulness, blaming others, chronic lateness and forgetfulness, complaining, resentment, sarcasm, fear of dependency, fear of intimacy, intentional inefficiency, making excuses, losing things, _lying _. . .

Kakashi smiled as he thought of the old routine. That sweet, red bridge; all those memories, just another memorial. "LIAR!"

Well, honestly. "I was helping an old woman cross the street"? What, did they think he was making it up for the _hell_ of it?

The cringing crash of shattered glass snapped Kakashi from his thoughts.

"Hokage-sama?" he said loudly, sprinting the few yards to her office's door. "Hokage-sama?" he repeated. He pounded the door once, with his fist, before flinging it open.

Broken glass and sake puddled at her feet. She was standing next to the window, her hands covering a face no longer youthful. She had let the jutsu fall.

"Tsunade. H-hokage-sama." He was breathing hard.

Surprisingly, no one had heard; or else surely they would've come running. He closed the door and walked toward her with measured steps. Her shoulders were trembling, but there were no tears. "I'm going to clean this up now," he said evenly, beginning to kneel.

"Don't." Her voice was sharp, like the glass, and Kakashi took note of the bright red blood dripping from her hands. "Just leave it."

And so he left it, and they stood, and they waited for the sun to set.

-

Tsunade cleared her throat abruptly. "I'm sure you're all wondering about the stipulations of this next mission."

The mood in the room was grim – certainly more serious than Sakura had expected. Other than Kakashi, she didn't know anyone else in the room. Knew _of_ them, yes – they were all jounin; top jounin, practically-ANBU jounin.

And she . . . she was a jounin, too, but she was primarily a medic. And a newbie, at that. She could not help but compare herself. It was her nature.

To her left was Morino Idate, younger brother of the late Morino Ibiki, again affiliated with Konoha. One missing finger, several scars across those broad, powerful hands, dark eyes that seemed to look into your soul – Sakura shuddered and recalled the written portion of the chuunin exams.

Kakashi was leaning up against a wall behind them, clearly on a level of his own.

Further along the line stood Tanaka Kaito, then Sato Masaru, and finally Yoshida Rei, the only other woman on the team but as battle-hardened and fierce as the others.

Not for the first time tonight, Sakura's stomach writhed with nerves. These were strong, experienced ninja. She tried, only partially successful, to keep these feelings off her face. What was she? A petite, pink-haired medic, who happened to have powerful teammates and powerful teachers.

But regardless of her insecurities, Tsunade thought she deserved to be here, and she was clearly going to debrief them whether Sakura was listening or not. Naturally, Sakura opted to stop pissing herself and pay attention.

"We are on the verge of an official war with Sound. But we cannot afford to turn a blind eye to our other enemies."

Sakura's cleanly groomed nails buried into her palms. Konoha only had one other definite enemy . . . oh, this would not be good.

"Akatuski sightings have sharply declined over the last six months. The group's current whereabouts are unknown, as are their most recent plans. Track them, find them; report back to me."

Naturally the mission should sound simple, even easy. But this was the Akatsuki. If they were sensed, and deemed any sort of a threat . . . Sakura swallowed.

"Depending on – circumstances, your mission may be extended. We need to uncover their plans regarding the Kyuubi and its container, Uzumaki Naruto."

Sakura hated it when Tsunade talked like this. Like Naruto wasn't a human being, like he wasn't a little brother to her. As if his very life was only important in the context of the Kyuubi. As if he was just another shinobi, and not . . . _Naruto_. Sweet, shining Naruto, who hadn't stopped growing in years, ate ramen like a last supper, couldn't seem to stop pulling pranks on high-ranking official. He was gonna be Hokage some day.

Sakura felt sick. But Tsunade was looking at her sharply, as if waiting for her to back out. She can't do that. This was what she'd worked for. Credibility. And these last few months, all the missions . . . the blood on her hands . . . it's been a test, she realized, they'd been testing her.

"I need to know if you are willing to accept this mission," Tsunade said slowly. Or maybe Sakura only thought she was speaking slowly. She blinked and could've sworn Kakashi was on the inside of her eyelids; just a flash of silver hair in a room full of grinding bodies. Her thoughts spun, dizzied, frantic, as, one by one, her teammates nodded. Kakashi nodded, he must've.

She thought of Naruto; his burning passion for Konoha, his eagerness when they were younger for any mission, just not another D-Rank! And Lee, who had been forever put on the sidelines by one fateful match, with his fiery youth and spandex. He still sometimes brought her flowers and left them on her porch with letters waxing eloquent about her grace, her strength, her loyalty . . .

The other four were looking at her curiously.

Credibility. Her life wasn't worth much without it. She felt sick with nerves.

"I'll do it," she said, looking her mentor in the eye and for some reason not seeing pride, as she'd expected. Still, her wretched stomach thrilled with anticipation. "I'll do it."

There was a darkening from behind, like the quick change of temperature before a storm – but Sakura could hardly feel it – she was burning so brightly, brighter than the sun.

-

**A/N:** Do your eyes deceive you? Is that the actual emergence of an actual plot? Stay tuned… And by stay tuned I mean you should be more prepared for the next ice age than my sixth chapter.

By the way, that list of passive-aggressive disorder symptoms? Straight off Wikipedia. I was looking it up one day and I was like, hell, yes, that is Kakashi in list format. Hence the deliverance of this very chapter. (bows to the Wikipedia gods)

Also, "agressivism" isn't actually a word. Until I made it one, that is. :-)

Mere Anarchy


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